


The Flower Chain Prophecy

by BonJiro



Category: The Legend of Zelda & Related Fandoms
Genre: AU, Arranged Marriage, F/M, Ganondorf trying to court a Princess that is out of his league and failing, Gen, In which Zelda and Ganondorf are tricked into marriage, Snippy Princesses, Snippy Princesses and Shitty Gerudo Kings, Some Fluff, Some Humor, Taming of the Shrew style antics, Zelda does not like the prospect of a scary husband, Zelda taking no shit, Zelgan bullshit, look at these nerds, matchmaker romance, smut later
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-07
Updated: 2015-08-07
Packaged: 2018-04-13 11:05:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,685
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4519521
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BonJiro/pseuds/BonJiro
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When a young Zelda is approached by a Seer with an odd prophecy, it sets into motion a strange chain of events that would see her wed to an unlikely candidate. With Hyrule’s fate apparently depending on the success of their union, there seems to be little choice in the matter–but is it the design of the Gods at play, or simply trickery by a cunning third party?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Prophecy

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Tavington](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Tavington).



They say the betrothal of Hyrule’s King and Queen is an unorthodox tale.

 There were many reasons to think it strange, be it the joining of two people as opposite as day and night, or the political binding of two races so opposed in wars of the past. A Princess whose line was Goddess blessed, heralds of Wisdom and Prophecy, entangled in a web of dark legends and eerie coincidence by taking the hand of a mysterious—and some daresay ruthless—desert thief.

None could have predicted such madness or fluke of fate as that.

 

_But it is said that one person did._

Barely upon her fifth summer, baby faced and chubby fingered, the most recent royal to bear the name Zelda had sat safely contained by the sturdy white walls of her courtyard. A quiet child, amusing herself easily with the task of plucking up flowers from the gardenbed and entwining them together in a bracelet, one would not expect anything out of the ordinary to happen to her there.

Perhaps she hummed a fateful lullaby a little too loudly, or beckoned with her infantile talent some accidental charm. Pointed ears caught the steady rhythm of a woman’s clicking heels, and crystalline eyes blinking for the sight of a stranger, the Princess accepted easily—in her great inexperience—that no danger could stride so overtly past the many guards.

The stranger offered the child a sanguine smile, tucking thick strands of onyx behind her ear and crouching beside the Princess with all the familiarity of an aunt. Her head tilted, charmed, pale features set into a stark sort of mischief and harshly drawn beauty.

Zelda stared openly, curious and mesmerised as the woman spoke, watching red lips part to offer an accent she had never heard before.

“What a pretty child…” came a fond remark, long lashes shading her gaze. “I used to make flower chains when I was very small. It seems so long ago, now… I used to give them to people I cared for.” a thoughtful pause. “Ah, but who will you give it to, dear? It must be very lonely, to sit here and play by yourself… You’ve no siblings either, I hear.”

“Oh… no, I don’t. I don’t make them for anyone, only for fun.” Innocent in her confusion, but well taught, Zelda frowned lightly to seek her manners. “But, thank you… I’m told I look like my mother did.”

“More like your grandmother, I would say.”

“Are you a friend of my father’s?” she asked, the child tilting her head some to study the woman closely. “I don’t remember seeing you here before.” It was clear the girl was growing more wary by the minute.

The woman laughed then, a short and sharp sound that drew a flinch from the Princess, and shook her head. “No, Zelda. I don’t imagine you would have… but allow me to introduce myself.” Without offering the girl a chance to question this, the woman grew grave. “I am the Seer, Danta de Lume. I travelled here, child, to tell you of a vision and advise you on the fate of this land.”

Zelda’s young features paled, and crystalline eyes grew wide. Immediately, her mind jumped to what she knew of the legends of old with some dread. She did not question, as yet, the nature of Seers or prophecy, knowing well of them herself and her family’s history—her late mother and nursemaid had seen to that. But with the very barest of scepticism, the Princess bit the inside of her cheek.

“Why not address my father, then?” she squinted, modesty and self doubt in her small voice. “I can’t do anything but warn him myself, and he… Well, you see, my father doesn’t…” the girl fumbled, looking to the grass, but the woman caught her quickly.

“He would no more believe my word than he does yours, my Dear.” Danta’s answer was swift, slender fingers gently lifting the girl’s chin to offer a knowingly soft smile. “But it would be far better still if he did not know. This is something only you can achieve, and a task that your father would see hindered. But you must promise me that you shall persevere, or else this country will surely fall to ruin.”  

Zelda’s eyes wavered unsure upon the Seer’s visage, swallowing the small lump in her throat as the finality of Danta’s words sunk into her cleanly. Naïve and unused to such pressure, it was only natural that the Princess’ young heart quivered for such a warning, but without Wisdom to temper her, the child grew desperate to know what ill fate may befall them. A small nod of understanding brought her hands close to her chest, almost as if to withdraw from the woman altogether, but Zelda held firm in her decision to hear what she must do. 

She had difficulty deciphering her own nightmares, at this tender age. If de Lume could shed light on the monstrous haze of her dreams, was it not better to be appraised and prepared sooner than later?

But then, to keep such grave news from her father, if there were truth in it…

“I will… try to do what I can,” the girl offered slowly, not yet willing to make promises she may not be able—or willing—to keep. “Please, deliver your message and I will listen. I can’t promise you anything until I know what you have foreseen.”

The Seer’s eyes flashed as if a grand trap had been sprung, and from painted lips slithered the words that would shape the future as she saw fit.

“On your eighteenth birthday, a man shall appear to you. He will hail from the West, wearing hair like fire and bearing eyes of gold.” She began, watching the girl’s face drop—ah, yes, it seemed even as a child, Zelda knew well of the Gerudo and their legacy. “He will appear uninterested in you, perhaps even dismissive, but you must pursue him even against the wishes of your father and other suitors that may have appeared. He will be ambitious and tenacious in his own goals, and stubborn in his ways, but do not stop until you have his heart, and he asks for your hand.”

The Princess, now, was trying very hard not to scrunch her button nose up at the prospect—this was hardly what she had expected to hear. It was something of a relief, deep down, but her belly stirred and churned all the same. Her knowledge of the West was limited as yet, but what she did know was inherited mostly from the King: those who made homes in the desert were a hard people, difficult to sway and set in their ways. The West was also the origin of one of the worst tyrants Hyrulian history had ever seen, which bolstered little confidence in her.

More than that, marriage was not yet something she had even considered at this age, and quite a heavy subject to wrap her mind around. But picking her words carefully, the girl sat straighter to stare the woman down, incredulous for the moment.

“This marriage…” she mused, thoughtful of this man’s apparent ambition, “The alternative is war, then? Because, if he means to conquer and follow in the footsteps of old, a Hero will no doubt rise to defeat him. A Hero always appears in this land’s hour of need.”

Danta de Lume merely closed her eyes, hiding a wry smirk for the child’s faith. “The fates have shifted, my Dear. If it were that simple, I would have no need to interfere… but my vision was clear.” A winsome sigh left her, long lashes lifting to view the flowers. Gently, she would brush her fingertips across the bud of one yet to bloom.

“There would be no war, just as there would be no Hero to wage it. You must tip the scales yourself, Zelda, or the Gods will act where a Hero cannot and cleanse the land by means of a great and devastating flood. Strike before the Darkness gains foothold, and stay its hand as well as your makers’ own.”

Zelda’s belief in a Hero was almost so reflexive, that to her such a saviour dismissed from her future was as shocking as it was unnatural. The child denied it in her mind, but her chest tightened for the possibility. Surely, this woman was mistaken. But then, the seed of doubt planted, the small sovereign considered how grave it was to even suggest the absence of a Hero. Unheard of, impossible, but Danta delivered her message with the warning that it would not be believed. Nothing was impossible, so the late Queen had so often said to her only begotten daughter, that Zelda saw no other option than to heed the Seer’s tale.

She would gamble with the land’s destruction, were the prophecy correct, after all.

Almost fearful now that she may not be able to see Danta’s solution through, for how this future suitor of hers had begun to sound, the Princess wrapped her hands tightly about the bracelet she’d made and did her best not to let them tremble.

“But, I… even if I married such a man, how could I love somebody with an evil heart? I couldn’t… I wouldn’t! A tongue can tell a lie, but my feelings cannot!” she protested weakly, panicked and searching Danta’s dark eyes for some sort of answer to her plight. Perhaps another option, even, but her hopes didn’t dare reach that height.

The Seer merely chuckled, cynical in its sounding and her eyes flashed again to reveal her trick. “I never said that you had to love him, my Dear…”

Zelda’s brows furrowed, confusion evident, though quickly accepted this was something she’d come to understand as she grew older. The concept of capturing somebody’s affections, genuinely, without holding them yourself seemed an impossibility to her young mind at present, but the Seer continued to indulge her further.

“This man must become Hyrule’s next King, Zelda, but while he may wear the crown, you must keep his heart like a bauble. Think of it like this flower chain, to be worn upon your wrist.” A black nail drew forward to tap softly at the hand-made bracelet, and Danta’s smile gained a hidden touch of cruelty. “Craft it carefully, picking your moments and words like these flowers. Weave his thoughts of you into shape that you desire, and tie it up carefully to keep it from being undone.”

Crystalline eyes wavered upon the bracelet as Danta spoke, and though Zelda found the thought bleak, the image of Hyrule being washed away hardened her enough to accept it as necessary. Another small nod came muted this time, and satisfied, the Seer rose to stand.

“No matter how the years unfold, Zelda, it is  _this_  you must remember most of all. Rule Hyrule beside him, and rule  _him_ over Hyrule. If you cannot do this, even with your marriage, this land’s fate will remain uncertain. Stop at nothing, until you are as worshipped as his own mother Goddess, and conquer him with all the ruthlessness his predecessors would have done unto you.”

When next Zelda’s gaze rose, without even the resounding click of heels, Danta de Lume was gone…

But her prophecy echoed strongly within the Princess’ pointed ears.


	2. The Arrival of the Gerudo

As the Princess grew older, she grew more cynical and incredulous of de Lume’s claim, and had begun to take it with a grain of salt.

Hyrule prospered, and peace reigned. Her father was in good health, and though Zelda’s own visions became clearer to advise her on the paths she followed, not a single one had yet offered any evidence that Hyrule’s destruction grew nigh.

The Royal family’s relationship with the Gerudo went, for the most part, unchanged. Little contact—at least of the more personal manner—was made between her father and the tribe leader of the West, and it was unlikely that this would change any time soon. Visitations were rare, and ambassadors were appointed and exchanged to discuss most affairs, keeping a comfortable distance between them.

Zelda had kept her ears open to rumours and opinions regarding the Western leader all the same, curious of him for a time and still cautious of the Seer’s words to a small extent. 

Though her father had made a few journeys to the desert, meeting with this mysterious would-be husband of hers, he had returned each time largely unimpressed. Those in court who had run across the Gerudo Lord themselves held sour opinions almost unanimously. Even the few books Zelda found that made mention of the infamous desert man left her uninspired, painting the image of a guileless and bitter upstart, arrogant and impatient toward those outside of his kin.

Despite their ill-tempered leader, though, the Gerudo were in no position to revolt against the current strength of the Royal military, and no amount of ambition would close the gap of numbers. With Ganondorf’s unpopularity too, there was little chance of him having allies to back him up, were he ever to attempt a coup. With all this in mind to comfort, Zelda felt that Danta had perhaps misread her vision, leaping to the worst conclusions out of worry.

And so, the prophecy had faded to the very back of the Princess’ mind, the serious tones of it largely dismissed by her sixteenth year, as Zelda simply resolved to keep a weather eye out for the unpleasant Gerudo male. She even dared to entertain a few potential suitors, much to her father’s delight, and otherwise went about her life as she would have had Danta de Lume never approached her at all.

Fate punished her harshly for her careless dismissal.

Seven days shy of her eighteenth birthday, Zelda woke screaming and fitful in the early morning hours. Haunted by a nightmare potent enough to see her revert to childhood habits, through the shock and tears she desperately turned to crying out her nursemaid’s name. The old woman rushed to tend her, but the Princess could not be calmed, spouting incoherent terrors and stuttering as she shook. Impa listened as Zelda babbled restlessly of a great wall of water, something about a Seer, flower chains, and an urgent need to marry. Alas, little sense could be made of it when the King came calling, worried for what ailment had befallen his daughter.

So inconsolable was she that a physician was called upon to look her over, and her father spent half the day deliberating over whether the birthday celebration should be postponed. After a good deal of pacing, he called upon her nursemaid to relieve her of such stress.

No sooner had it been put to Zelda that the ball might be cancelled did her fever seem to break. The change in her was as miraculous as it was worryingly abrupt, and all at once she grew silent as the grave. She tore off her covers as if they burned, batting away the urgent hands of the doctor and stalking down the hallways to burst into the King’s study. Terror swirled freshly within her crystalline eyes, but her voice was as unwavering as stone.

The celebration was  _not_  to be cancelled, but  _amended_.

She demanded then a private affair, by her invitation only. The list of attendees would receive letters penned by her hand, carefully selected, and she announced that one among them would become her chosen husband.

Such was the omen to be divined from her dream, she said.

The King was not a man to take superstition seriously, but sensing his daughter’s rather unsettled and delicate state, allowed her this odd request with the slim comfort that—for the first time—the Princess seemed keen to be wed. Zelda composed her guest list that very day, though for some security, and far more  _curiosity_ , they were screened by his Majesty’s eye before being sent off with the messengers.

To his great shock, the one scribed with the greatest care was addressed to the Lord of the West. Surely a misguided product of whatever madness had stroked her, and not willing to entertain such trouble, the King saw to it that this particular invitation was secretly disposed of. No more than ashes remained of it in the fireplace before the rest were sent on their way, each a viable enough choice in their own right to court his daughter.

When word returned to confirm various attendances, Zelda was hawk-like in her search for the Gerudo’s letter, though to her evident disappointment, nothing came. Her father tried earnestly to dismiss this from her mind, warning her that such rudeness was simply in Lord Ganondorf’s nature. Such a man had little interest in these affairs, he told her, though Zelda only grew more restless in her wait for his response.

Still nothing came, and on the final day, Zelda’s father breathed a great sigh of reprieve, satisfied that his daughter would be forced to pick another. The Princess, however, settled into a stoic and patient wait, pleasant though reserved toward the guests that _had_  begun to arrive. Holding her breath, she gave no traction to the charming gentlemen that vied for her attention over the course of the evening. She felt certain that Danta’s words would yet be confirmed—the Seer had said he would appear on her birthday, and so fresh from her own dreadful vision, the Princess held faith that this would be true despite the odds against it.

At the crack of dawn, spotted like ants marching across the horizon, news of a Gerudo envoy spread through the castle like wildfire to ignite shock and scandal. Uninvited and unexpected by all but the Princess, as the King’s suspicions sharply increased and fresh new rumours were born for it, the infamous Lord of the West rode through the castle gates as if it were his very birthright to do so.

The moment Princess Zelda learned of his arrival, they say she crumpled to the ground, breath hitching with silent tears of relief and—perhaps those closest to her might have thought—even a tiny shred of shame.

                            ————————————————

Though it was supposed to be a celebration in Zelda’s honour, the hall carried a subdued atmosphere, hushed voices and wary stares given as the latest arrivals seemed to steal the spotlight.

 Red haired and immodestly dressed, the dozen sisters that had accompanied Ganondorf brazenly made themselves at home, indulging in the exotic finger foods and swapping gaieties over glasses of wine. They mingled with the gentry without care for the customs expected, sidling up to married men boldly to all but demand conversation, harshly judging how the Hylians measured up against their brother.

The Hylian women, by contrast, kept an almost fearful distance from the Gerudo present, as if wading through the long grass in snake season. There were a few that engaged them, if a little awkwardly, doing their best to appease the Westerners with shallow flattery and squash any unpleasant scene that may erupt.

 A volatile and boisterous lot, it was evident the Gerudo took to festivities like fish to water.

 Whilst the sisters poked fun at the general stiffness of their hosts and stirred mischief amongst themselves, their lone brother stood watchful and silent. Ganondorf made no attempt to take part in their revelry, seemingly content with the oppressive affect his presence was having upon everyone else. Were it any other man leaning their back against a marbled pillar, tucked away in the corner of the large hall with folded arms, they might have gone overlooked by the rest of the guests.

 The Western King, however, was not like the other men present. He seemed instead to drink up all the available space around him, drawing one’s eye like a magnet.

 Zelda could swear that the very moment he’d set foot into the chamber it had shrunk three sizes. It was not only the knowledge that her vision and Danta’s warning would lend, settling urgency and panic in her belly. The man brought with him a very tangible sense of danger, given what horrors his hand was apparently capable of—a King among thieves, born of a ruthless land and a warrior in his own right, she had heard of his numerous skirmishes across the borderlands. The mere sight of him was enough to overwhelm, from the imposing height he bore to the blend of colours building his muscled frame; almost artificial for her eye to behold.

 Like the insects she’d occasionally stumbled upon in the gardens, nature painted him poisonous, every facet of him like a warning for one to stay back. Cruelty simmered in his eyes like hellfire, pride held his head high, and power seemed to cloak him in a treacherous aura. To toy with Ganondorf would be to put herself in harm’s way; instinct informed her of this immediately.

 No matter where in the room the Princess attempted to focus her gaze, he somehow stole it back within the minute, trapping her within the glare of his own before looking away again to dismiss her attention.

 There was a subtle invitation in them, she thought at first. Then, Zelda began to suspect it was more likely a dare. But as she grew emboldened enough to step out into his line of sight again, the weight of his eyes upon her seemed to suck the courage from her bones. The Princess realised then, in a claustrophobic sort of way, that it was _expectation_ Ganondorf silently pinned her with.

 He was  _waiting_  for her to approach him, studying her carefully from afar like some lazing lion and deliberating on whether she was worth the chase.

 Her stomach twisted violently at that.

 The Princess felt her palms growing clammy within satin gloves, weighing the task before her as carefully as he did. Her mouth was dry and her mind offered nothing to say, no incentive to approach her quarry. She did not want to. This was exactly the sort of man she would avoid in any other circumstance.

 She had been told to expect dismissal, and she could now see why. Intimidation was not something she had truly steeled herself against as yet, either, but the Gods could do far worse. So, with a nightmare clawing the back of her mind to eclipse all else, Zelda crossed the distance between them swiftly, resolute and telling herself that this was just a man like any other.

 She did not stop until she was no more than two feet before him, a sway of skirts carrying her close as she folded her hands neatly before her. He pointedly ignored her for a good few moments, focussing his gaze upon his sisters as they mingled, and only after the Princess had cleared her throat did he grace her with any attention. Golden eyes slid languidly toward her, disinterest and annoyance evident in the lines of his face, though through it all he held an undertone of smugness.

 Zelda allowed herself the hope that this lion would be made of paper, and readied a diplomatic smile.

 “Standing alone like that, you have me worried that the festivities are boring you.” she chanced, light in humour, though it stirred no change in his expression. Her smile broke, brows twitching to furrow. He gave her nothing, not even a tic at the corner of his mouth.

 Nobody had ever refused to speak to her before.

 Faltering, Zelda’s gloved fingers began to fidget before her, and she wrestled with the sudden urge to retreat out of embarrassment. In the same instance, she wondered why that was her initial response. Was he not the one at fault for his rudeness? Desperate to distract from the feeling, she sent a glance off to one side, but the Princess carried on to correct herself.

 “I don’t believe we’ve been properly introduced.” she began again, offering an optimistic tilt of her head, though her gaze avoided his. “I am–”

 “I know who you are.” the deep richness of his tone cut through her like a roll of thunder, sudden and harsh to her ears, though his volume was a private one.

 The thick red of his brows knit together closely, and the Gerudo eyed her curiously. It almost seemed he was searching for something about her, as if told a certain trait would present itself and caught wondering why it hadn’t.

 “Ah…” a stalling blink let her lashes bounce once, and Zelda found herself at a loss once again. He had levelled her smile, and she struggled to retrieve it. A silent prayer went through her as she dared to look him in the eye once more, trying to imagine the response she would give were it anyone else taking that tone.

 She wondered what it was he expected to find in her while she held his attention. Feeling meek now before the man’s stature, the Princess clamoured to mimic some self confidence from him, uncomfortable with how small she felt in that moment.

 “I wondered whether you had recognised me, so I thought to give you the benefit of the doubt. After all, it is expected of my guests that they wish me well on my birthday, lest they be thought of as rude.” Delicate brows rose as Zelda tried to return him with an unimpressed once over, ignoring the nagging feeling that the gesture was not unlike poking a bear with a stick. “But, perhaps you’re unfamiliar with the customs here?”

 Her small challenge to him, gentle as it was, seemed to hook his attention like an elusive loach to bee larvae.

 A slow and deliberate movement turned Ganondorf’s head to face her now, rather than peering at her from the corner of a scowling eye. His mouth pulled thinner, tautly forming a grimace that betrayed both bemusement and irritation—it was clear he did not appreciate the implication of being bounderish.

 “I am familiar enough to know that it is impolite, in your culture, to  _stare_.” he mused bluntly, “If you mean to make a habit of it, your Highness, the least you might do is spare me the lecture on what customs I ought to observe during my stay.” golden eyes glanced away again, watching one of his youngest companions hover around the buffet like a hummingbird. “You’re making for a poor host, thus far.”

 Zelda’s hands broke their perfect folding then to settle behind her back, her diplomatic disguise shattering before the brunt of his disregard. “…I merely wanted to allow you the chance to save face, Lord–”

 “Not more than a minute has passed, and you’re chastising your own guests before you’ve even greeted them properly.” he continued over her, as if she hadn’t even spoken. “Bad form.”

 “… _Bad form_?” The Princess razed him with the cut of her frown, openly showing her displeasure at his conduct now as her voice sharpened. “I don’t expect—from what I’ve heard—that you are the type to favour other people’s rules or expectations. But, I would hope you had the decency to match your blunt tone to an honest tongue, because it sounds awfully like you’re trying to make an ill-mannered hypocrite of me.”

 “You tried to paint me with that brush first, your Highness.” he rumbled low, inclining his head to give her a disarming leer. To his surprise, by this point, it had very little effect in deterring her.

 Affronted, all thoughts of charming this man went out the window, the graveness of Danta’s prophecy swiftly being tossed aside by the heat of the moment. “I did  _not_ , and even were that the case, this is a poor response to somebody pointing out a fault in your behaviour. You are a guest in my home, and you are here by my invitation.”

 “Clearly, I am not a  _welcome_  guest.” The Gerudo gave a derisive snort, and an overt roll of his eyes to that. “Though make no mistake, I am here because I  _chose_  to be. I can not be summoned like a dog to your call for supper.” It was the most animated anyone had seen him all evening, and shifting from the pillar to stand at full height, he towered over her and looked down the length of his nose.

  _Actually, it would seem you can;_ though her mind ventured it, she dared not say it so boldly.

 “Do you think I didn’t notice your own staring, though you admit knowing it to be impolite?” she shot back, quickly forgetting her previous trepidation to simply scold him. “Or the fact that you’re standing here with that dour look on your face, like some awful gothic statue. I might have understood were you shy. But, if you can’t be bothered to speak to anyone out of the arrogance you’re renowned for _,_ you could do better than simply shooing them away with glares and barbs. A brief  _introduction_ between us could’ve seen you retire to your rooms easily enough with no more than a few moments spared.”

 “Careful, Princess, I can hear the shackles of propriety rattling.”

 After a moment of thought, her eyes narrowed still into that disapproving squint as other guests began to take notice of their spat, Zelda dared to grow louder and speak over him in turn. 

“Which, given you’ve travelled here to honour my birthday, should quite obviously be the first thing on your agenda. If you had no wish to be here, then you could have _chosen_  not to attend. It would hardly be more impolite than your current attitude. I must say, I’m very disappointed to find truth in the rumours of you.”

The Gerudo took this in quietly, one brow arching in response to her words, and it was evident she had returned the favour—he was not used to being treated this way, either. He cast his attention around the room, carefully noting the number of eyes upon them. The Hylians gaped at him, and his sisters were sending the Princess daggers. Her father, too, had begun to notice the tension, visibly teetering on a decision to approach them and interject.

Dryly, he clicked his tongue, and his voice met the hushed air like a hammer drop though it rolled from him to hiss. 

“Are you always like this, or am I an exception?”

Taken aback by the question, Zelda unconsciously took to leaning back on the balls of her feet. It was rare that she spoke to anyone in such a frank manner, in truth. An odd flicker of guilt leapt through her—usually, instead of gawking, she should have plucked up some bravery and approached him sooner to avoid all of this. The abrasive and domineering air this man commanded had kept her at bay, unsure of him as she was.  

Too long had she been conditioned to blame herself for such failures in communication, she realised then in a small sort of way. Forgiving of others, and far too accommodating, she did not generally command the authority that her father did, despite status. She was well loved, to be sure, but perhaps not as respected as she could be. It was not in her nature to be so confrontational, even amongst other suitors that had left her uninspired. If not for Danta’s words, in fact, she likely would have retreated when first the urge gripped her and simply left him be altogether.

Scolding a seven-foot-something thug for rude behaviour was  _definitely_  out of the norm for her. At least, it was as far as she knew, never having the displeasure before now.

She spent a moment listening to the whispers around them, spying her father nervously watching from afar, and her eyes widened for the novel thought—as far as  _either of them knew._

For all Ganondorf might guess, she had lived as an icy shrew, and one had to work for her softness and kinder nature. A strict mistress with a gentle hand, perhaps…? Ganondorf was vain, so they said, and like any man fond of mirrors perhaps he also looked for himself in others. The Princess studied the shape of him, replaying Danta’s words in her head, and suddenly the Seer’s solution began to seem less impossible.

She didn’t have to love him, nor even  _like_  him. She only had to  _rule_  him, and put him in his place before he usurped hers.

So, Zelda lifted her chin, ignored the chill running down her back, and built a saccharine smile to house her response. At least in a public forum, she was sure she wouldn’t be struck for it. Still, she surprised herself at how easily the words came.

“At no point this evening have I found you ‘exceptional’ in any stretch of the word, Lord Ganondorf, and I’m certainly not going to flatter you now.”

Though the Gerudo’s eyes narrowed and his lips parted to give what she could only assume would be a sneering barb, it was at that point the Princess turned on her heel, flashing the creamy skin of her back to him for the cut of her gown. 

Though in truth she simply gave in to a much craved retreat, it would later be said that her blonde hair was like the crack of a whip as she spun. Their first conversation; seen to have ended with the sort of finality only those of royal status could possess. It is well remembered also that the Lord of the West was so affected by this public spurning, in a rare turn of events, that he removed himself from the party within minutes of Zelda’s dismissal. Some boldly claim it to be the first time he was successfully shamed for his abrasive nature; others whisper that this was the moment that defined both the shock of their union and the spark that brought them together.

But, whatever gossip may tell of that moment, it marked the first occurrence in which the Gerudo King was left hanging on a Hylian’s word.


End file.
